


Wednesday Morning, 3:00 A.M

by HYPERFocused



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, episode-related, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-09
Updated: 2003-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 04:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex in distress is Clark's nightmare, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesday Morning, 3:00 A.M

## Wednesday Morning, 3:00 A.M

by HYPERFocused

<http://members.aol.com/hyperfocused>

* * *

Disclaimer: If I owned them, these boys would have had a much nicer summer. 

* * *

It's Wednesday morning at 3:00 A.M, and Lex can't sleep. Hasn't had more than an hour's worth at a time for as long as he can remember. Drugs don't work; they just make his mind foggy. The shrink his father insisted he see wrote him a prescription, but he never filled it. 

Once upon a time he would have called Toby; but now that he's come so close to death he doesn't want to crash and burn just for the sake of a good night's sleep or a good day's forgetting. Besides, he has to be alert. It isn't safe to sleep. Hasn't been since long before the plane crash, really, but he let himself believe it was. There are circles under his eyes, as dark a violet as his favorite shirt. He's punch drunk, and looks like he's been punched. 

Nothing but illness and utter exhaustion could push him into slumber now, and he's got his damned healing ability stopping him from going under. 

By 5:30 he's so tired he can hardly think straight. The classic bust in his office, a familiar sight when he's lucid, morphs into a sinister intruder when he's not. 

Finally, the needs of his body take over. He dreams. He's back on the island, his usually perfect skin red and cracking like cheap vinyl seats in a car he wouldn't be caught dead driving. He's thirstier than he can ever remember being, but the only water he can find is brown and murky. Even boiling it doesn't stop him from puking it all up. 

Sometimes Helen is there, the dress she wore on the plane to their honeymoon hanging off her traitorous form in tatters. She pours him expensive champagne. It burns his throat like acid. 

Once in a while it's Lewis he sees: eyes crazed, hair in knots, filthy hands all over him in an invitation he can't resist, but doesn't want to accept. He doesn't even want to think about what sick subset of his subconscious thought up Lewis. 

When his father's helicopter lands on the island, and Lionel steps out in a cloud of dust that somehow doesn't mar the impeccable line of his suit, Lex isn't sure anymore if h dreaming or remembering. 

It's only the appearance of the one person he really wanted to see on the island that lets him know this isn't reality. Because of course, Clark had been nowhere to be found. 

But here is dream Clark, conjured up in tight maroon shirt and cut off jeans hugging his ass. The uniform of the jailbait club boy who might have tempted him in his seamier Metropolis years. His Clark - the real Clark - would never wear anything so l obviously seductive. Of course, Clark didn't know he could wear flannel shirts, long johns and down jackets, and Lex would still want to fuck him. At least Lex didn't think he knew that. 

Eventually Lex reaches a point where his body shuts down and his mind shuts the hell up; sleep allowing him to recharge like his cell phone. But he doesn't feel refreshed when he wakes. It's like he's still swimming towards shore. He washes up on the island of his own dreams, coughing up water. 

Clark doesn't sleep well either. He lies awake remembering nights in Metropolis. Things he did to make himself forget. They never worked as well as he hoped. He feels like he has a deeper understanding of Lex than he ever wanted. His innocence - whatever was left of it after all the Krypto-freaks had their day - is gone. He wonders if Lex could feel its absence when they hugged. 

Mostly it's guilt that keeps him awake. Guilt for the accident that killed what would have been his baby brother or sister, for the pain his parents went through that summer. Searching for him without any luck for months, coming closer than they ever had before to losing the farm--all of it was his fault. 

But what really keeps him up, or wakes him up scared and shaking, is the thought of Lex alone and in pain. Knowing he hadn't been there to save him, that Lex was hurting, crashing into the ocean with neither parachute nor life vest. Nearly drowning, skin burning and peeling in strips. 

What makes it worse is that Clark doesn't know what Lex went through on the island. He imagines scenes real and impossible. Lex barely making it to shore after a hungry shark gets way too close. Lex almost blind with pain from multiple Jellyfish stings. Lex attacked by pirates. Lex blistering from sand, wind and sunburns, bleeding from the work he had to do to create any kind of shelter. Clark knows nothing beyond the evidence still showing in the healing cuts and scrapes Lex can't hide. 

His survival made Clark wonder if Lex really did have some sort of enhanced healing abilities due to the meteor shower. It would mean Clark had been helping and hurting Lex from the moment he arrived on the planet. Not that his abilities would have saved Lex from bullets or broadswords --that was Clark's job, when he wasn't being a self-centered, whiny little prick. 

The night is utterly quiet, a rare change since summer. Not even the ever-present crickets break the silence in Clark's room. Normally, there would be noises of the farmhouse settling into the bones of its foundation. Old houses are never still. But the confusion of Metropolis has ruined the simpler sounds of Smallville for Clark. 

The city changed him. Now, he hears things. Layers of sounds. He can't separate them very well. It's like he's using the "spy ears" Chloe bought from the Sharper Image catalog. It's almost painful - everything in overlapping stages of "loud," 

Tonight is different. A new sound, faint but distinct, and he's not even sure he didn't imagine it. His name, coming out of the darkness in a voice he would know anywhere. There's no way he should be able to hear it so many miles from Lex's mansion. But he can, and Lex sounds frightened. It's like Lex is right next to him. Damn weird. Sort of cool, too. Clark wonders if it's a new "gift", or just something somehow related to his feelings for Lex. He hopes it's the latter, because as much as Chloe might like hearing random conversations in the hope of discovering some new mystery, he isn't really interested. 

"Please, Clark," the voice says. "I'm sorry. I never meant -" then it fades. Clark tries to focus his hearing the same way he does his sight, but he can't control it. Sometimes he just hears what sounds like sobbing, and that hurts even more. The Lex he knows would never let himself go like that. 

This Lex is different. Damaged. Very possibly not completely lucid. 

Clark doesn't know what to make of all this. He wants to run to Lex and beg forgiveness - for everything wrong he's ever done to him, and God it's a long list. He wants to plug his ears and bury himself under the blankets, pretending none of this happened. He wants to fix Lex. Instead, he can't do anything. His indecision paralyzes him. 

"Why weren't you here, Clark?" Lex admonishes him. "I always thought you would be." 

Now _that_ moves Clark. He knows what he has to do. He throws on some clothes and pads down the stairs. 

He has a moment's debate over which would be better: driving, and therefore no questions about how he got to the mansion, or speed. He wants to be there immediately, but he isn't an idiot. 

"Take the truck", his mother says, holding the keys out. Intent on Lex, he hadn't noticed her sitting at the kitchen table. 

"He needs me, Mom." Clark begs for her understanding, but he'll go either way. 

She doesn't even question how he knows this, just tells him "I know, sweetheart. Go to him. But be care--." 

He's out the door before she can finish the word. 

It takes him hardly any time at all to get to the mansion, even without using his speed. It's urgent that he gets to Lex. He's not going to let road signs or any other obstacles stand in his way. Luckily, traffic is practically non-existent at this hour. 

He can still hear Lex. Small whimpers and rustles tell him he's dreaming, but closer to waking up. 

Pulling the truck into its usual spot, he keys in his code and is in the castle. The new guards are there, but don't say anything. He does get a bit of a weird look, but obviously they've been told to let him pass. 

Lex is still asleep when Clark slips into his room. More like a good sized apartment, really. Clark's eye roams from the wide expanse of rich gray carpet to the plush bed with dark purple sheets -- and most importantly, his best friend -- sprawled on it in a tangle of still elegant limbs. God, he's beautiful. 

A little bit nervously, Clark takes off his shoes and strips down to his boxers. Gingerly he slips into the bed next to Lex, hoping to relax him but not wake him. 

"Clark! Clark!" Lex's voice cracks. He sounds inconsolable. 

Clark can't stand this, but he isn't sure what to do. He's never seen Lex so lost. Not when Earl Jenkins made him fall of the scaffolding; not when he killed Roger Nixon to protect Clark and his father. 

Wrapping his arms around him, he pulls Lex closer. What the hell is the Clark in Lex's dream doing to make Lex cry out like that, he wonders. Lex in distress is Clark's nightmare too. When Lex starts struggling, Clark knows to let go. 

Trying to soothe him, he runs a hand down the long line of Lex's spine. "It's all right, you're safe now. I'm here," he tells him. Lex stirs, only partly awake. Clark can hear his heart racing as loud as helicopter rotors. 

"Clark? How did... what are you... " Lex adjusts the comforter to cover himself better, then gapes open mouthed at Clark. He rubs his eyes confusedly, which just makes Clark want to hold him tighter. He doesn't though, giving Lex the space he probably needs. 

"You don't need to pinch yourself, Lex. I'm real." Clark can feel Lex relaxing, his heart rate calming to something close to normal. He'd know the sound of Lex's heart anywhere. Sometimes he thinks he knows Lex so well he could distinguish the sound of Lex's blood traveling his veins. 

"I hope so. My imagination hasn't been sending me anything nearly so reassuring lately," Lex says. 

Clark waits for Lex to ask what he's doing there, or maybe tell him about his dream, but he doesn't. Just yawns and stretches like he can finally settle down for the night, and says, "C'mere, it's late. I think I can sleep now." 

So can Clark, finally. 

Morning comes sooner than he'd like, and Clark wakes up to find Lex leaning over him. The smile on his face is genuine. Free. He can't remember the last time he saw Lex this happy. It's a nice look for him. 

"So, this is what it took to get you into my bed," Lex says, voice still sleep laden. It's about the sexiest thing Clark has ever heard, like sand-washed silk. 

"G'Morning," Clark murmurs, pressing up against Lex and kissing him the way he's wanted to for almost as long as they've known each other. He's always known Lex wanted this, too, but it took Lex nearly dying - really nearly dying, no last minute rescue - for Clark to get the nerve to show him how he feels. 

"Is this OK?" Clark asks him. 

Lex stares down at him with that look on his face. The same one Clark gets when he tells Lex "it must have been adrenalin." 

"You knew it was, Clark, or you would have asked first, kissed later," Lex tells him, voice filled with indulgent amusement. 

That brings on 'the blush that ate Smallville', as Chloe once called it. Lex's words are a sign that Clark has permission to continue what he's doing. 

"Good," he says. "Why don't you lie down?" Lex complies, settling into the bedclothes and waiting to see what Clark does next. Clark bends down to kiss Lex some more, tracing a downward path through freckled skin with little licks and nibbles until Lex's erection is right there in his face. 

And yeah, he's thought about this before; how Lex would taste. Different than anyone else. 

He has another flash of guilt for things he did in Metropolis, but ultimately none of that matters. He's back to himself now, and it's the real Clark - Lex's Clark - who's pushing the covers all the way down and peeling off Lex's shorts. The real Clark who's wrapping a hand around Lex's cock, and using the skills he perfected on people he'd rather forget: lips over teeth, a little extra suction. It's okay, though. All of the past means he can do this for Lex. 

It dawns on him that he never really asked, just started doing what he wanted. Not that Lex is objecting. Clark takes Lex's writhing and gasping as a sign that he's doing okay. God knows he doesn't want to stop. Lex tastes incredible, feels warm and solid and amazing in his mouth. 

After he recovers, Lex turns the tables and pushes Clark onto his back. Fine with Clark. Lex can do any damn thing to him he wants, especially if it involves that amazing, expressive mouth and that tantalizingly perfect skin touching him. And it is perfect, scars and all. 

Right now, those perfect lips are making their way down Clark's torso, stopping along the way to map his body like a treasure. When they get to his cock, Lex pulls off Clark's shorts and makes him forget Metropolis ever existed. Clark has never been touched like this. Never let anyone near. He's embarrassingly loud when he comes, and wonders if the servants are laughing downstairs. Lex doesn't seem to be concerned. 

"That was... that was..." Clark doesn't quite know what to say, but he hopes Lex understands anyway. 

"Why I came home," Lex replies. Then he yawns and smiles and pulls a sleepy Clark towards him. Clark will be late getting the truck back to the farm, and Lex won't make that meeting, but neither one of them cares. 


End file.
